


not your week, your month, or even your year

by restless5oul



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Light-Hearted, Macau GP, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, me dealing with my macau feels, you can read most of these as ships if you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: it was supposed to be their time. but the universe had other ideas in mind.





	not your week, your month, or even your year

**Author's Note:**

> i just have a lot of feelings about macau and i wanted to write something.  
> i haven't written some of these people before, so characterisation may be a little ???  
> also officially this is just a friendship fic but you can totally read into any ship you like haha.

“I have something for you.”

Someone said, their voice accompanied by the sound of a knocking. And Ferdinand turned to see Lando peeking around the entrance of the garage, his knuckles rapping against the metal door. He still had his podium cap on his head, and there was a stray leaf from his laurel that clung to his shoulder where the overall was sticky with champagne, the offending item clutched in his grasp. In his other hand he held a presumably empty champagne bottle. The Austrian could tell he was trying to reign in his own happiness, but that glow that only came with victory was painfully evident on his face.

Ferdinand wished it didn’t hurt, but it did, more than he was wanted to admit. Though all his tears had been cried, and he had resigned himself to the fate the universe had thrown at him, the weight of defeat and disappointment still lingered. He could be happy for Lando, but he could still be sad for himself.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” he asked him, standing up to his full height from where he had been bent over his battered and broken car. Lando stepped out from behind the wall, a glint in his eyes that Ferdinand knew well.

“This is a team victory, you deserve it as much as I do,” he shook his head, a wide grin spreading across his face, a mischievous expression that said he was up to no good.

Ferdinand was about to insist otherwise, but there was something about the way that Lando walked towards him that had him feeling suspicious, not necessarily in a bad way, but the way he was looking at him was not an expression that he thought he had ever seen on his face before.

“What are you doing?” he asked, looking bemused as Lando stopped a couple of feet away from him, still smiling.

He got his answer in the form of a popped cork, and he tried to close his eyes in time to avoid getting any of the bubbly in them as it sprayed from the bottle, which he now realised was not empty at all. The spray was aimed perfectly towards his face, from someone who had too much experience. He could have been annoyed by his teammate’s antics, but he was laughing too hard for that, and most of the champagne ended up in his mouth. He half heartedly tried to fend his teammate off as he continued to shower him until the bottle was empty, and he could hear the familiar sound of Lando’s own laughter joining his own.

They must have looked a right pair, the two of them in the empty garage, manic laughter filling the space until they were dripping wet with champagne. Ferdinand tried to shoot him an annoyed look, but his smile ruined the effect, and he didn’t miss how much lighter he felt. His stomach ached from laughing, and he struggled to catch his breath, but he hadn’t realised how tense he had been before, and now that was all released from his body.

Through blurred vision, he could see Lando offering him the bottle. Rubbing his eyes, he took a swig, the familiar taste synonymous with the euphoric feeling of standing on the top step of the podium. He supposed that had been Lando’s intention, to give him a little bit of the feeling that he robbed himself of at the last corner.

“I know I said it already, but well done for today. You really were amazing,” Lando smiled and watched as he drained the last of the champagne.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, hoping that Lando understood that he wasn’t just thanking him for the compliment but also for trying to cheer him up.

 

“Wait I forgot,” Lando almost jumped in excitement as he remembered something. He reached up, stretching his feet so that he was on his tiptoes, the laurel in his hands, and Ferdinand stooped a little so he could place it around his neck. He looked very pleased with himself when they moved apart, and he admired his teammate with a contented nod of approval.

“There. Perfect.”

Ferdinand grinned bashfully, looking down at the heavy garland, his fingers running along the leaves. He felt a little overwhelmed by the feeling of wanting to cry again, but it wasn’t the same emotion that he had felt when he had clambered from his three-wheeled car and fallen into his father’s embrace. It was pride, knowing that he really had given it everything. But also a rush of fondness and affection to his teammate who was choosing to make sure that he was okay, rather than celebrating his second place.

Maybe he would call the two of them friends, they certainly got on well enough. But Lando was hardly the kind of person who was easy to make friends with. Reserved to the nth degree, and closed off when it came to most things, it was difficult to feel like he had much time for anything other than his laser-like focus on his goals. But maybe he liked Ferdinand more than he had previously let on, and maybe he cared more than he had thought. It was impossible to guess what that boy was thinking or feeling, so Ferdinand had stopped trying. But he could safely say that what he had just done was one of the kindest acts anyone had done for him all year.

“Thank you,” he said, again, the words the only thing he could possible think of to say.

“Now you look every part the winner that you are.”

He pushed his smaller teammate lightly on the shoulder, hoping that pleased flush didn’t show on his cheeks, smiling as Lando just laughed at him. He let him sling his arm around his torso and start to pull him out of the garage, their sides pressed together.

“Let’s properly celebrate okay? I can’t do it without you.”

Ferdinand just chuckled by way of agreement, suddenly struck by an idea Lando had given him.

***

Maxi had been lying on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling, trying very hard to work up the energy and effort to get dressed and go downstairs and join the party when he heard the knock at his door. He supposed that whoever it was had come to drag him down to where everyone else was partying, but there was nothing he wanted to do less in the world.

Macau was supposed to have been his chance of redemption after having to settle for third place in a championship year that was supposed to be his. And it had slipped from his grasp before he had a chance to fight it. Over and over, he had been telling himself that he could have done more, that he could have tried harder, but in all honesty it just hadn’t been his weekend. But his disappointed mind hadn’t figured out how to forgive himself just yet.

Pulling a wrinkled t-shirt off his chair to cover his bare chest, he was still in the process of pulling it down over his torso when he opened the door, ready to tell whoever was on the other side that he wasn’t in the mood. But he stopped short when he saw who it was.

Both wearing what seemed to be their pyjamas, even down to the fact that they had no shoes on, Callum and Mick were smiling at him as they stood in the hallway. Mick had what had to be the blanket from his room wrapped around his shoulders, which he held in place with one hand as in his other he held a clear plastic bag filled with what looked like garishly coloured sweets. Callum was cradling a pack of beer to his chest. His two teammates looked as worn out as he felt, neither of their smiles quite reaching their eyes.

“We thought you might want some company,” Callum shrugged, holding the obviously heavy pack of beer forward, like some kind of offering.

“Jo left to go out with some family and friends, and neither of us felt like partying. We thought you might feel the same too,” Mick explained, shrugging in a way which made the whole blanket move from where it was cocooned around his body.

Maxi was still a little surprised at seeing his two teammates there, so he didn’t say anything as he stepped aside so they could come in. Though there was a moody, sullen part of himself that wanted to be left alone, but he knew Mick and Callum hadn’t had the easiest Sunday either, and being on his own was probably only going to make things worse.

He still didn’t speak as he watched Mick pull one of the squishy chairs up by the side of his bed, arranging both himself and his blanket in it, wrapping it around his shoulders like some oversized cape as he sat cross-legged. Callum meanwhile had thrown back the neatly pressed sheets, which had been marked by a Maxi-shaped silhouette from where he had been lying, and had sat up on one side of the bed, his legs tucked underneath the sheets. He watched as his teammates made themselves comfortable, a genuine smile working its way onto his face.

“Are you going to just stand there or are you going to join us?” Mick asked, turning to look at Maxi, who was still stood by the doorway. Callum patted the spot on the bed next to him. He hadn’t thought that they were really at the bed sharing stage of their friendship yet, but he was really beginning to think that he could use this.

Pushing any awkwardness or reservations aside, Maxi clambered into the empty half of the bed, and let Callum pull the covers up to their waists. He gratefully accepted the beer Callum handed to him, and let him pass one to Mick and get one for himself before he spoke.

“Thank you guys,” he said, the light pink flush on his cheeks making it clear how touched he was by the gesture.

“We couldn’t have you wallowing on your own,” Mick smiled, balancing his can of beer on the arm of the chair as he attempted to open the bag that he had brought with him.

“Better to wallow together,” Callum said, opening his can deftly, before he raised it slightly and said, “To a thoroughly shit weekend.”

“Hear hear!” Mick agreed, as the three of them took a drink. They lapsed into momentary silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Mick rustling about in the bag as he searched for a particular colour sweet.

“I really thought I was going to do it this weekend. You know make up for this season, get some glory of my own,” Maxi finally said, his voice quiet. They didn’t often talk like this, usually it was jokes and laughter, or racing and work, but rarely did their conversations travel into this kind of territory.

“Me too. Especially after yesterday,” Callum nodded, looking at Maxi with big sad eyes that reflected everything Maxi was feeling but didn’t show.

“We all could have. It just wasn’t meant to be I suppose,” Mick shrugged, his voice a mumble as he didn’t look up, staring instead at his hands.

“I’ve been runner up five teams in my career, I’ve only won a championship once, and that was back in karting. I just wish-,” Maxi didn’t know what his point was, he felt the frustration and anger building up inside, and he took a sip of his drink to stop himself from saying something stupid.

“It’s okay,” Callum said softly, as he reached to brush his hand on his bare arm lightly, and Maxi tried hard to ignore how it sent a shiver of goosebumps across his skin. He didn’t stop himself from sighing heavily, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders – it felt a little like that after all. Maxi didn’t look up from where he was staring at the can in his hands, but he could feel both of his friends looking at him.

“You still did well, even if you didn’t get the result you want. Both of you,” Mick said, clearly trying to cheer them up. But his kind words made Maxi’s eyes sting and he did his best to smile, but it came out looking very watery and uncertain.

“Come here,” Callum muttered, and Maxi heard him put his can down on the bedside table, before he felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders, and he let himself be pulled against Callum’s chest. It was a little uncomfortable with Callum being quite a bit smaller than him, and after a few tentative seconds, he moved his own arm so that he could return the gesture. He guessed that as much as Callum was trying to cheer him up, he probably needed a hug too.

It was easy to relax once Callum’s arms were around him, and he took a deep, shaky breath, before he closed his eyes. He didn’t think he would get over his weekend anytime soon, but it felt good to know that he wasn’t the only one who was suffering.

“Guys…” Mick whined, a hint of longing in his voice. Maxi didn’t open his eyes but he could hear shuffling and he jumped a little when Mick climbed onto the bed beside him, burrowing into his side, flinging one of his legs over Maxi’s, and holding on with an arm around his waist – probably to stop himself from falling off the bed that really was too small for the three of them.

“I’m going to miss you guys next year,” he mumbled as he buried his face into Maxi’s back, his voice muffled.

It wasn’t certain what anyone of them were doing next year, but they were all aware that the likelihood was that they wouldn’t be teammates anymore. Maxi hadn’t really realised before that moment how much he would miss having them around. He’d had plenty of teammates that he’d liked in the past, but this year was the first time that he felt like he’d made friends as well as teammates.

“Oh! And Jo!” Mick added quickly, and Maxi felt Callum laugh, his chest shaking, the sound of his laughter making him chuckle.

“I’ll miss you guys too,” Maxi said, finally opening his eyes again now he felt less miserable. He looked up to see Callum smiling at him wistfully, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but he settled for moving his hand to run it through his hair, his fingers tickling his scalp.

The longer they lay, cuddled together on the double bed, the harder it was for Maxi to feel his limbs, but he wouldn’t have moved for anything, not even though it was far too hot a night.

At some point Callum found the remote and the three of them attempted to watch some Chinese soap opera, making up their own storylines when it became apparent that there were no subtitles. Mick tried trying to feed them some of his sweets, climbing on top of Maxi so his hand could reach Callum’s mouth. They tasted a little like different varieties of washing up liquid, and when he told them that Jo had given them to him, Maxi was not in the least bit surprised.

At some point all of them must have drifted to sleep before Callum or Mick could leave. When Maxi woke up the city still dark outside his window, the light from the TV that had been placed on mute making it possible to see Callum, who had switched places with him so his head rested on Maxi’s chest now. Mick had somehow managed to commandeer more than half of the bed in his sleep, as he lay on his back, sleeping peacefully, his blanket twisted around his legs.

He contemplated getting up to switch off the TV, but he didn’t want to wake either of them. So instead he shifted his arms slightly, so that they were wrapped around Callum rather than trapped under him, and he closed his eyes just as he felt Callum snuggle into him. A few more hours couldn’t hurt.

***

Ferdinand almost changed his mind when he found himself in front of the closed hotel door. But he knocked before he could.

He had put in an appearance at the party, for a couple of hours, and despite feeling better than he had earlier, he wasn’t exactly up for watching Ticktum parade around with his winner’s trophy. He had left Lando with Ralf and Sacha just as they had ordered a round of shots, because if there was one thing his fragile mood didn’t need, it was vodka.

He had seen the person he was looking for leave the party not long before he himself did, and had bribed Joel into telling him his room number. Which is why he was stood, with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other, feeling weirdly nervous as he heard someone on the other side of the door.

“Oh! Hello,” Sergio looked very surprised to see him, but not annoyed, which made Ferdinand relax marginally. He was still wearing the clothes he had been at the party in, but behind him on the bed was piles of his belongings and an open suitcase.

“Can I come in?” Ferdinand asked, holding up the bottle and glasses, hoping that Sergio understood what he was getting at. The Brazilian just nodded, and stepped aside so he could enter.

He was well aware that they scarcely knew each other, but he had to bet that if anyone in Macau understood how he was feeling – that strange mix of disappointment and pride – then it was Sergio. He couldn’t explain how the race had made him feel, but if there was one person he didn’t have to explain it to, then it was him.

“I thought you were at the party,” Sergio said, switching off the television that had been playing on low.

“I was, but I had something I wanted to do,” Ferdinand smiled and watched as he raised one eyebrow questioningly. He turned and saw that the door leading out to the balcony was propped open slightly. Opening it, he motioned for Sergio to follow him.

He didn’t say anything as he opened the bottle, placing the two glasses on the small table so he could pour them each a drink. Sergio was still watching him quizzically, even when Ferdinand handed over a glass and clinked them together.

“To the real winners of the Macau Grand Prix,” he said, a devious shine in his eyes as he took a sip. In a second Sergio’s face turned from confused to amused, and he threw his head back as he laughed loudly.

“You can’t say that!” he said, sounding indignant, but smiling too much for it to seem like he was actually scandalised by what Ferdinand had just said.

“Sure I can,” he shrugged, titling the glass in Sergio’s hand towards his mouth, “Now drink.”

He obliged, though he was still grinning. Ferdinand turned to look at the city skyline, which was so bright and colourful that it was almost like it was light out, though night had long fallen. It was just possible to make out the sounds of the party happening several floors beneath them, the pulsating beat of the music just audible.

“I wouldn’t have minded losing to you. I would have been okay with that, your drive was really something else,” Sergio said and Ferdinand glanced sideways to see that he too was looking out over the city. He didn’t say thank you, but he did smile gratefully.

“There’s always next year,” Ferdinand shrugged taking another sizeable gulp of his drink.

 

“Rematch?”

“Definitely.”

The two of them clinked their glasses again.

“Now come on, we have to finish this bottle and I see you haven’t even touched the mini bar in there.”

Ferdinand pulled Sergio by the hand back, dragging him indoors, picking up the half full bottle on his way.

“You’re kind of mental has anyone ever told you that?” Sergio laughed, gripping his hand tight as he let himself be pulled along by the Austrian.

“One or two times.”


End file.
